The Morning After
This is for Flor (myflower ) on her 22nd Birthday!! Happy Birthday my dear! I hope you get everything that you wish for and that so far your day has been wonderful and everything you wanted it to be. I'm not sure how great this gift is, but I've had writer's block lately and I'm amazed to be honest that I actually managed to finish this in time AND get it over a 1000 words, haha. I hope you enjoy it bb! I can't imagine what my fandom life would be like without you in it. You've become a great friend to me over the past few months and I'm so glad that we got closer. I know we didn't talk much when we were a part of the LOST fandom and I'm pretty sure I remember our first conversations were actually about Twilight! Look how far we've come now....we have a brand new show to fangirl over and a brilliant new ship! I'm so glad you started watching this show, not only because I love it, but because it brought us closer. You are my brain twin, and I'm so happy to have you in my fandom life! Love you! <3333
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You had forgotten what this felt like.
You had forgotten the feel of someone else’s breath on your neck. Feet intertwined. An arm draped lazily around your waist.
You had forgotten what it felt like to be happy.
You’d woken with a sense of pleasure and peace that you hadn’t felt since before John died, and you couldn’t help smiling thinking of the night before, reminiscing about the feel of his hand in yours as you led him upstairs, how his kisses had started off tender as he peppered them from your mouth all the way down your neck, but then slowly became more and more hungry. Pressed against the wall, you could feel him grow hard against you and you could barely elicit a moan before his mouth was covering yours again. As your hip ground against his, you felt the insatiable desire to be even closer to him, and not just in the physical ways. He must have felt it too because as he laid you gently on his bed, he planted a long lingering kiss on your mouth before finally resting his forehead on yours.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against your lips. You had smiled shyly before finding his mouth once again.
You’d been awake for about five minutes, just relishing the feel of his bare chest against your back, lost in those thoughts from just a few hours before, when you felt his lips graze your neck.
“Morning,” he murmured faintly, as his stubble dusted along your quickening pulse.
“Morning,” you said back, turning around to face him. In his twin bed, the distance between you and him was minute; you could practically count every single one of his eyelashes, or get lost in those blue eyes.
His hand found the small of your back then, and he began to lightly trace circles with his fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine. You’d never been much of a morning person when it came to sex, but your body was virtually humming from this small physical contact. He smirked as if he knew what sort of effect he was having on you, but instead pulled you closer until your cheek was resting against his chest.
“We should stay in bed all day,” you said contently.
“Olivia Dunham shirking off work? I must be doing something right,” he said cheekily.
“Well, it’s only seven in the morning. Broyles could call in five minutes. The world could still end,” you countered, peeking up to look at him.
“True,” he chuckled, “or Walter could come home early, and to be honest, I’m not so sure I want to be caught in bed with a woman in my arms by my father.”
“Yeah we should try and avoid that,” you laughed softly. You should have made a move to get up then, but you felt his arm tighten around your waist as if he instinctually knew you were about to leave. He didn’t want you to go, and you knew for certain that you didn’t want to. Maybe for five minutes, everything else could disappear. They could just simply be Peter and Olivia, and not have to worry about other worlds and cracks in the universes. They could forget about scars and crazy fathers and their fears, and just relish in the feel of one another. You hadn’t allowed herself to do that in so long, hadn’t allowed any moment for yourself or for any type of indulgence. Five minutes. That wasn’t too much to ask for. You closed your eyes as he gently stroked his fingers up and down your side, and sighed peacefully as you rested your head against his chest.
You weren’t sure if it was five minutes or an hour, but your phone did ring, finally breaking the two of you out of your imagined world. You shot him a look that said, “I told you so”, and he grinned as you ripped off one of his blankets and wrapped it around you in order to retrieve your peacoat off the floor.
“Dunham,” you said a bit breathlessly, as you finally riffled the phone from your jacket pocket.
“We’ve got a case. Get the Bishops and meet me in New York in three hours,” Broyles said in his standard clipped manner.
“Walter’s already in New York, sir,” you began.
“Well then, pick up Peter and I’ll take care of Dr. Bishop,” he said with a touch of warmness in his tone. You knew despite his cold manner that he really was fond of all of you, including Walter, and you smiled before thanking him and then hanging up.
“New case?” Peter asked as you placed the phone back in your pocket.
“Yeah, New York. I’m supposed to pick you up on my way out,” you said as your eyebrows rose a bit.
“I think you already did that,” he said, smiling devilishly. You sauntered over to him still wrapped in the blanket, and kissed him on the mouth. As you tried to pull away, he placed his hand on the side of your face, anchoring you to the spot, and leaned in closer to kiss you again. This one was longer, and more passionate; his tongue darted between your lips, as if to tease you or make you beg for more, but you couldn’t and he knew that.
“I’ve got to go home and get some clothes,” you said apologetically when you finally broke away. He brushed back the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He looked happy, really happy, and that made you grin because he truly couldn’t be thinking about anything but you right now, not after the past few hours.
“Can I at least make you some breakfast first?” He asked.
“Sure.”
It wasn’t the ruined breakfast from two days ago. No table was set, no candles were lit, but as you ate your first real breakfast in what felt like ages, and Peter read the paper, you couldn’t help the feeling that this was it; this was what the next forty years would be like. And you couldn’t imagine anything better.